The Warm Stone

I stepped from the coat pocket onto the dark pine boards of the hallway table. Beside an empty ceramic tray lay a smooth, grey river pebble, retaining a faint trace of residual heat from the room. I paced toward it with an unhurried, measured tread. The surface was cool beneath my paws, but its curved flank offered a firm, steady boundary in the dim light. Instead of mounting the crest, I settled my shoulder directly against the polished slope. The stone held firm against my weight, unbroken by draft or tremor. In the quiet of the entryway, I let the stillness gather around my stance.